


A Mother's Wisdom

by talibusorabat (hermitcave)



Category: North and South - Elizabeth Gaskell | UK TV
Genre: Gen, Misses Clause
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-10
Updated: 2011-12-10
Packaged: 2017-10-27 03:50:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hermitcave/pseuds/talibusorabat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Experiences are savings which a miser puts aside. Wisdom is an inheritance which a wastrel cannot exhaust.</i></p><p>Mrs. Thornton has never been one to bite her tongue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Mother's Wisdom

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bow/gifts).



‘Diligence is the mother of good fortune.’ BENJAMIN DISRAELI

The factory bell clanged, a painful noise that Margaret had not not yet accustomed herself to, though she had made her home above Marlborough Mills some seven months ago. She could read through the relentless groaning of the cotton machines, but that bell never failed to pull her rudely from whatever world she had lost herself in.

But she took the opportunity to stand, stretching muscles that had grown stiff from hours of stillness, and walked to the window. She delighted in the feel of the plush carpet beneath her feet; a recent addition, for Mrs. Thornton did not care for such frivolities, especially in a room she did not use. Upon entering the house, Margaret had claimed the room as her own, making such small changes as to lend the room a softer, more feminine look. She watched the workers hurry away from the factory out to lunch, young women laughing as they chattered, older men smiling as they no doubt complained voraciously about their work.

She turned at the sound of a familiar step on the stair. Mrs. Thornton swept into the room, less a graceful lady and more a force of nature. Margaret wondered if she had been this intimidating as a debutante, and the thought made a smile twitch at the corners of her lips. This did not escape the older woman’s notice, though she refrained from comment.

‘Well,’ she said. ‘I see that you have not been keeping idle.’ A subtle movement of her brow indicated she did not believe her own words.

‘I have been reading _Utopia_ ,’ Margaret explained. ‘I picked it up from the new library.’

Mrs. Thornton picked up the book and examined it. ‘A novel,’ she remarked.

‘A book of philosophy, actually,’ Margaret said. ‘It is a satire of 16th century society.’

‘I see. I’m sure they found it very useful.’

The older woman set the book down. There was a silence as she seemed to consider her words - a rare thing, for generally she spoke as though her thoughts were carved in stone.

‘Miss Hale -‘ Eight months of marriage, and still John’s mother would only use her Christian name in her son’s presence. ‘You know I consider it my obligation to speak the truth.’

‘It is the duty of all civilized people.’ Margaret tried to avoid battles with Mrs. Thornton, but it was not her nature to let others walk over her. Her father had been right when he said they similarly proud.

‘Be that as it may,' Mrs. Thornton continued. 'I have to ask if you really think this is the best use of your time. Reading…books of philosophy.'

'I’m not sure I understand what you mean,' Margaret said.

Mrs. Thornton sat carefully on the room’s stiffest chair, clearly preparing for a conversation of some length. Swallowing a sigh, Margaret followed returned to her own seat. She cast but a small longing glance at her novel.

'What do you know of Marlborough Mills’ financial situation?'

'It is sound,' Margaret answered hesitantly. 'There seem to be a great many orders coming in.'

'You don’t know the figures?'

'May I ask what this is all about?'

'I am concerned about your involvement with the factory.’

Margaret frowned slightly. 'I am not really involved with the factory.'

'That is what concerns me. I’ve never taken you for the useless type, despite your fancy southern upbringing.'

'I’m flattered,' Margaret interjected dryly.

'But you show a troubling disinterest in the factory that is your livelihood,' Mrs. Thornton continued as though she hadn’t spoken.

'I was not aware I was a factory employee.’

'What do you think pays for this house that you live in? What do you think puts food on your table?'

'While all of that is true,' Margaret said, 'I am not an employee. I am responsible for the household expenses and of those, I assure you, I can account for every penny. How the factory runs is John’s business.'

Mrs. Thornton closed her eyes, as though Margaret’s words caused her physical pain.

'Perhaps they do things differently in your precious South, but here in Milton, no woman would be so foolish as to ignore the source of her own income. We have no room for separate spheres here. What of your own fortune?'

'The bulk of it was invested in the mill,' Margaret said. 'Henry - a family friend - is managing the rest.'

'Do you know what he is doing with it?' She did not need Margaret to speak to know the answer. 'I am shocked that, after your own experience with your father, you would remain so willfully ignorant. Men die, Miss Hale. This I know better than anyone. Men make foolish decisions. Even my son, who has more sense than most, is not immune, nor can he control every aspect of production. You had best be prepared if the worst should happen. You can’t expect others to step in and take care of you.'

She gave Margaret a piercing look. 'You’ve lucked out before, I’ll give you that, but luck is a fickle thing. You don’t want to entrust your welfare, or the welfare of your children, to it.'

Margaret felt humbled. For all the woman’s cold temperament, she could not forget what she had gone through. She had carried her children through the worst of circumstances with nothing more than her strength of character and firm resolve. John never hesitated to credit his success to her.

'You’re right,’ she said. ‘I confess, I don’t much care for figures, and I avoid them unless strictly necessary, but it is unwise for me to do so.'

She felt a small surge of pleasure as the admission seemed to take Mrs. Thornton by surprise.

'I’ve been helping John with the bookkeeping for years now,’ that worthy woman said. ‘I can teach you the basics, if you like.'

'I would like that very much.’ In an inspiration of mischief, Margaret added: 'Perhaps you could join me for lunch in the cafeteria tomorrow. There are several women there whom I think would also greatly benefit from understanding their finances a little bit better.'

'What on earth for?' Mrs. Thornton asked.

'You said yourself that we had best be prepared if the worst should happen. And these women are in a much more precarious financial situation than you or I. Don’t you think they should also have the tools to help themselves if something happens to the breadwinner?'

Mrs. Thornton did not answer straight away; Margaret thought she was looking for the most scathing way to refuse. The older woman had no patience or compassion for those less iron-willed than herself.

She was therefore herself shocked when Mrs. Thornton said: 'Very well. Though I doubt they will be able to learn much in twenty minutes. You needn’t look so surprised, Miss Hale. Contrary to popular opinion, I am not entirely without heart. And I have no desire to stand in the way of those who would work to improve themselves. If they will put in the effort to learn, I am willing to teach.'

'Thank you,' Margaret said.

Mrs. Thornton stood, signaling the end of the conversation. 'You can thank me if anyone bothers to show up.’ She left the room with the same quiet force with which she entered. The bell rang just moments after, as though summoned by her exit.

Margaret smiled. She would catch Nicholas at the end of the day, let him know to spread the word around. She settled down again with her book, and for the first time in months, eagerly anticipated the clanging of the bell.


End file.
